Lioness and Viper
by TigerShadow
Summary: Minerva plays Quidditch. Dolores commentates. Hilarity ensues.


It was a brilliantly sunny day. She knew it the minute she had opened her eyes that morning, and entering the Great Hall for breakfast had only reiterated the point. It was sunny, she knew, but it was also November, which meant that the sun would likely make no difference in the chilled air that swept the grounds. _Good Quidditch weather, then,_ she decided.

She sat down between Charlus Potter and Doria Black at the Gryffindor table. Doria gave her the usual bright smile and cheery "Hi, Minerva!" Charlus, however, stayed quiet, apparently sulking.

"What's the matter with him?" Minerva muttered out of the corner of her mouth while pulling the plate of sausages toward her.

"What else?" Doria whispered before taking a sip of orange juice. "It's a Quidditch match today."

Minerva nearly choked on her sausage—or she pretended to, anyway—and turned to look incredulously at Doria. "Charlus Potter, nervous? You must be joking."

Doria shook her head, her unusual-for-a-Black red hair rippling in front of her face. "It's not nerves. It's just that…well, you got picked for Captain instead of him, and he got sulky. I tried to talk him round, but…" She gestured at the sullen-faced Charlus. Minerva raised her eyebrows; even the jet-black hair that kicked up in the back of his head looked annoyed.

"If you ask me," she hissed as she grabbed a green apple, "he didn't get Quidditch Captain because Dippet knows he's got a lot on his plate to begin with. He might as well get his Head Boy badge now; everyone knows he's next in line for it."

Doria opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a girlish, obnoxious squeal that Minerva knew all too well: "_Hi, Minnie!_"

Grinding her teeth together at the use of this repulsive nickname—a regular occurrence, to her consternation—Minerva did not turn around, choosing instead to keep herself stonily silent in the hopes that the equally repulsive Dolores would just shut up and leave.

Dolores Umbridge, a short, squat girl with stubby fingers adorned by ugly rings that had been out of style for years and an odd affinity for pink and cats (both of which most students thought to be borderline frightening and certainly sickening) seemed to take no notice. "I just thought I'd come over to wish you best of luck in the match today! I mean, even though I _heard_ that the _Slytherin_ captain wants to knock you off your broom—"

"_Malfoy?"_ Minerva, forgetting her vow of stony silence, laughed derisively. "Abraxas Malfoy, knock me off my broom? His aim's so horrible I'd be more frightened if he were aiming for the player fifty feet from me."

The simpering smile that induced loathing in students the school over slid off Umbridge's slack mouth, and her voice was considerably colder when she replied, "Well…best of luck, then." She stalked away, head held high.

Doria looked superbly disdainful. "Idiot girl."

Minerva nodded and took a bite out of her apple before adding, "There's only one place for cows like that."

The girls nodded and declared simultaneously, "The Ministry."

Doria laughed—she was the giggly one—while Minerva checked her watch. She quickly finished the apple and then motioned to her team to follow her to the changing rooms. Charlus walked sulkily, while their Seeker Mandy McKinnon gave Minerva her usual friendly smile.

"See you after the match!" Doria called as the seven players walked out of the Great Hall.

The team changed, grabbed their brooms, and headed out onto the Quidditch pitch while the other students filed into their seats. Minerva took note of thirty-something Rolanda Hooch in the middle of the grassy field (this would be her first official match as the new referee; Minerva had met Rolanda in fourth year when she was training and instantly took a liking to her). "Good luck," she called over in the Gryffindor team's direction.

"We'll need it," Mandy said worriedly as she stared across the field. The seven Slytherin players looked as though they were about to engage in some sort of Muggle riot—all except Abraxas Malfoy, who, as per usual, had that too-cool-to-care look that Minerva had always thought needed to be hexed off him.

Minerva turned to Mandy. "We've played the team before, haven't we? The Captains always go for appearances. I know Crabbe over there, for instance"—she pointed to a thuggish looking, thickset boy—"and he's even thicker than he looks, which is certainly saying something."

Clearly noticing the stands full of waiting students, Rolanda (Madam Hooch now, Minerva supposed, since she was a member of staff) turned business like. "Captains, shake hands!"

Minerva returned Abraxas's cold sneer with a disdainful curl of her lip and shook his hand, making sure to squeeze hard enough to make him wince (a feat she accomplished, complete with satisfied smirk). She mounted her broom—a brand-new Comet 180 she'd gotten for her sixteenth birthday—and, upon Madam Hooch's whistle, kicked upward and swiped the released Quaffle out of the air.

"And they're off!" A falsely sweet, girlish voice that nearly forced Minerva into retching resounded throughout the pitch. "Minnie McGonagall"—at the sound of this nickname Dolores's fellow Slytherins let out such jeers that nearly made Minerva turn around and hex the lot of them—"with the Quaffle, my she looks angry, she's such a competitive girl, I suppose with such a tight personality that goes right up to that rigid ponytail, she's got to have some way to release—that was quite the score, Minnie!"

In a rage, Minerva had hurled the Quaffle through the right hoop so hard it nearly hit the Keeper, Mulciber, in the face. (Mulciber was another player Minerva was sure Abraxas had chosen for his size and not his talent, since it was common knowledge that he was hardly smart enough to string two words together) It was a good thing that she hadn't hit him, however, because she probably would have knocked him off his broom and potentially been fouled.

The Quaffle was in Malfoy's hands now, but Minerva hardly noticed (nor did she notice the save by Septimus Weasley, their Keeper). How, _how_ could _anyone_ make _Dolores Umbridge_ a _Quidditch commentator?_ She knew nothing about the game—or much of anything else—she just wanted an excuse to call her "Minnie" in front of the entire school…

A Bludger suddenly whizzed past her face, and she turned her head so fast her ponytail nearly whipped her. Realizing that she now hadn't noticed that one of her fellow Chasers, Aaron Johnson, had just scored, she shot over toward Malfoy, who again had the Quaffle. There was no need, however; he was unbalanced by a well-hit Bludger from Charlus. As a result, Umbridge, who had been commenting with particular bile in her tone on the competency of the Gryffindor team, instead began remarking on the violence of its members, conveniently letting slip Harper trying to bludgeon Mandy over the head with his Beaters' bat as she flew past.

Minerva, gritting her teeth, knocked the Quaffle out of Malfoy's grip with a well-aimed kick. Aaron caught it, and the pair shot down the field, weaving in and out of the players before Aaron feinted and fired a shot at the center hoop. It was successful, and the Quaffle soared into the hands of Vaisey, one of the few competent members on the Slytherin team, who took off down the field and scored.

"I suppose Septimus Weasley's losing his touch!" simpered Umbridge. "Of course, the Captain does seem to have a tendency to put _friends first…_"

The jeers from the Slytherins were becoming unbearable. Minerva let out a full-fledged growl and shot an enraged look at Umbridge, hoping that it communicated the fact that she would like nothing more than to stuff that megaphone up her left nostril.

Talented at channeling anger, she directed her attention to the match. She successfully scored three more goals, while her fellow Chasers scored two apiece. The Slytherins, however, were catching up; the score was now eighty to seventy.

"Come on, Mandy, come on," Minerva hissed.

Suddenly, the Seeker in question pulled out of a spectacular dive, a fluttering, glittery ball in her hand and a lively grin on her face.

"Mandy McKinnon has the Snitch and"—here Umbridge gave an odd sort of choking sound—"Gryffindor wins. Of course, sweet Mandy might go a little further on the social spectrum if she actually ran a comb through her hair—"

Umbridge never finished, for Minerva had roared, "Give me that!" to a bewildered Charlus, who handed over his bat. Minerva, looking and feeling more livid than ever, had promptly spied a still-in-flight Bludger and hit it toward the commentator's podium. Normally, Minerva was a horrid shot with a bat, but after hearing the hideous nickname "Minnie" all throughout the match (she could see the marks on her broom handle where her fingernails had gripped it) her aim was much better than usual.

The Bludger streaked full-tilt at Umbridge, who barely had time to look before it struck her in the face amidst gales of laughter, some of which came even from the Slytherins. Whistling innocently, Minerva handed the bat back to a stunned Charlus.

Professor Dumbledore, her Transfiguration master as well as her Head of House and the Deputy Headmaster, cast his eyes around the pitch before his clear blue gaze was affixed on her. Thinking quickly, she hollered blithely, "Misfired a victory hit, Professor, sorry!"

She was quite sure he had known it was deliberate (she had always had the faintest impression that he was staring right through her, especially whenever she told a lie) but he never did anything about it, and she (however forced she had to make it) held his gaze steadily until he looked away. (This was why, years later, when Ginny Weasley performed something similar to Zacharias Smith, she took off only five points from Gryffindor, and in the Gryffindor team's victory, they had won enough points to make up for it.)

She guessed that there was quite a likelihood that she would have to endure further and much more ubiquitous "Minnies," but considering that she had only this year and seventh to go before she would never have to see Dolores Umbridge again, Minerva McGonagall found that she didn't care in the slightest.


End file.
